Harry Potter & the American Soulfyre
by Neal Wolf
Summary: Summer School at Hogwart's... and the US Dept. of Magical Affairs has something in store for Harry...
1. Prologue

_Author's Note:__ The following takes place at some point between "Goblet of Fire" and "Order of the Phoenix"._

**Prologue**

Cornelius Fudge sat behind his desk, running his fingers through his rumpled gray hair. What did Dumbledore think he was playing at, making such wild claims? And the Potter boy, how could he possibly…? Unless…

He shook his head vigorously. It wasn't possible. You-Know-Who couldn't possibly have returned. Well, he had a few surprises in store for Dumbledore.

Just as he thought of surprises, he got one of his own. Two men and a woman were having a rather heated discussion just outside his door. "I will not permit you to simply waltz into the Minister's office unannounced!" the woman, whose voice he recognized instantly, yelled.

"Madam," one of the men replied, "with all due respect, we do have an appointment". His voice carried a trace of an American accent; Fudge vaguely recalled having an appointment with someone from the American government at two. He absently glanced at the clock: one fifty-nine.

"Appointment or not," the woman was beginning to sound more flustered, "you simply _cannot_…"

"Let some pudgy, toad-faced half-goblin interfere?" the second man said coolly. His voice was much deeper, and most distinctly American. "I couldn't agree more."

The door opened just as the clock chimed two and the two men entered, leaving a now-incensed Dolores Umbridge in the hallway. Both of them could easily have passed for Muggles, save that they were in the Minister for Magic's office. One, whom Fudge presumed to have been the first he'd heard, wore a sharp, dark blue business suit. His neat, dark hair was pulled back from his angular face. The second, nearly a head taller and powerfully built, wore blue jeans and a black leather jacket. His long, flowing black hair and maroon complexion identified his Native American heritage easily. His piercing dark eyes darted around the room as the first man held out his hand to the Minister.

"Minister Fudge, I presume?" Fudge nodded to the question, standing and taking the offered hand. "A pleasure, sir," the smaller man continued. "Nathaniel Pike, of the United States Department of Magical Affairs, International Relations Division. My associate, John Blackfeather." The Native American's eyes met Fudge's briefly and he gave a curt nod, then continued to scan the room.

"Yes, of course," Fudge nodded. "Please, have a seat, gentlemen. May I offer you a refreshment?"

"Thank you, no, sir," Pike said politely as he seated himself in one of the office chairs in front of Fudge's desk and the Minister returned to his. Blackfeather remained standing. "We've come to discuss some rather disturbing reports that have reached us."

Fudge suspected where this was going, but he feigned ignorance; how could the Americans have found out already? "What manner of reports, Mister Pike?"

Pike leaned back slightly, folding his hands in his lap. "The Department has received word that a certain unnamable Dark Wizard may be once more at large." Fudge's suspicion was confirmed; he tried not to blanche as Pike continued. "Further, our intelligence indicates that your office has made no effort to investigate the validity of that possibility. Forgive me, Minister, but given the nature of the Unnamable One's actions in the past, this is a reason for international concern."

"My office has not investigated these claims," Fudge barely managed to keep his voice from trembling, "because such claims are ludicrous. The one you speak of died nearly fourteen years ago".

"So the Ministry's reports said," Pike nodded slightly, his tone giving no indication of having caught the strain in Fudge's voice. "However, the individual who has made these claims, one Albus Dumbledore, is very well known and well respected, both here and abroad. Surely a claim of such magnitude, made by one of his stature…"

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has not returned," Fudge snapped. "I have my suspicions of why Dumbledore would make such a preposterous claim, but whatever his reason, I can assure you that it does not concern the international magical community." He stood, his eyes flashing a hint of anger. "Now if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I have another appointment to which I must attend."

Pike rose as well and gave a polite nod. "Very well. Good day, Minister." He then turned and left the office, Blackfeather close behind him.

"Told'ja so," Blackfeather said with a smirk as the pair crossed the Atrium of the Ministry for Magic, ignoring the curious looks he drew from passers-by. "He'd have to see V first-hand to believe he's back, and to be honest, I don't blame him."

"Yeah, I know," Pike sighed, tapping the top of his tight ponytail with his wand, letting his shoulder-length hair loose. "Occupational hazard, John; I had to try going by the book."

Blackfeather simply nodded. "Plan B?"

"Would cause an international incident," Pike told him with a derisive snort. "PR would have a fit if a rep from the US Department of Magical Affairs gave the British Minister for Magic a fat lip." His companion chuckled under his breath, apparently picturing the scene.

"Fortunately," Pike continued, a smirk of his own crossing his sharp features, "there's a Plan C. I have a few contacts on this side of the pond."

Blackfeather raised an eyebrow. "Is there anywhere outside US territory you_don't_ have a few contacts, Nate?"

Pike seemed to seriously consider the question for a moment. "No," he said finally, and the two exchanged grins. "I'll fill you in on the details when we get back to the embassy."


	2. 1: Summer Course

**Chapter 1**

**Summer Course**

"You've finally gone 'round the bend, Hermione, y'know that?" Ron grumbled for what seemed like the thousandth time. He was seated across from her, staring out the window of the Hogwart's Express. "Bad enough you go overboard with classes when we _have_ to take 'em, but giving up summer holiday to take more…"

"It's only one class, Ron," Hermione huffed, "and it's only two weeks. You didn't have to come along, you know; it's an optional course. I simply thought it would be good for us to take it because it counts as an extra O.W.L. next year."

"Not like you'll need an extra," Ron argued. "You've been top in every class since first year."

"Not quite," Hermione shook her head. "Harry beat me out in Defense Against the Dark Arts third year thanks to that boggart."

Harry, who was seated next to Ron, glanced up at the mention of his name. He had leapt at the chance to go back to Hogwart's for an extra two weeks; it was two extra weeks away from the Dursleys… and gave him something to distract himself from Voldemort… and Cedric. "So what is this extra class, anyway?" he asked, trying to keep himself from brooding.

Hermione fished a flyer from one of her pockets, pointedly ignoring a snide comment from Ron. "International Studies, taught by Professor Dale Sutherland," she read off. "He's American, so the course will focus on the similarities and differences between the British and American wizarding communities."

"As long as he's not Bulgarian," Ron muttered under his breath.

"Oh, you're not still on about _that_, are you?" asked Hermione testily, slapping the flyer into her lap. Ron's reply was cut off by the cabin door sliding open and a strawberry blonde head poking through it.

"Oh I'm sorry," said the head's owner, a girl of about the same age as the three of them, her dark blue eyes wide in her pretty face. "Have I come at a bad time?"

"No," Hermione sighed, casting a glare at Ron. "Can we help you?"

The girl gave them a small smile, slipping into the cabin. "I was just looking for some company," she said simply, offering her hand. "Aliasha Kent; I'll be transferring to Hogwart's next year, so my father thought this summer course would help me familiarize myself with the school."

Hermione stood and took her hand. "Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, and Harry Potter."

Aliasha shook each of their hands in turn, her smile growing a bit wider toward Harry. "The winner of the Triwizard Tournament?"

Harry nodded. "The same. Where are you transferring from?" He tried to hide the fact that he wanted to get the subject off of the tournament.

"Kent Academy of Magic," she replied, taking a seat beside Hermione.

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Kent Academy? That's an American school, isn't it?"

"One of three," Aliasha replied with a nod. "It's in a little town called Salem Center, a short way outside New York City."

Ron shrugged to Hermione's surprised look. "Bill was offered a year there as part of a foreign exchange program, but he didn't want to leave Hogwart's."

"It's a good school, really," Aliasha offered, quickly diverting her eyes from Harry when he looked back to her. "Father thought, and I agree, personally, that four years of people thinking I'm related to the founder was quite enough, plus he wanted me to 'broaden my horizons', as he put it."

"You should have no trouble at all with this course, then," Harry put in, "having gone to an American school".

"Plus the fact that I am, myself, American," Aliasha added. She returned their curious looks with a shrug. "Mother and Father are both English; that's why I don't have an accent. They moved to America shortly after they married."

There was a slight interruption with the arrival of the lunch trolley. After purchasing a few snacks, Ron looked back to Hermione. "Anything in that _Hogwart's: a History_ about how they sort transfer students?"

"You mean that beat-up old talking hat?" asked Aliasha before Hermione could answer. "My parents brought me to Hogwart's last month to be interviewed by the headmaster, and he had me try it on. It said I was to be placed in… it starts with a G…"

"Gryffindor," the others said in unison. "All three of us are Gryffindors also," Hermione explained. "If you're a fifth year, assuming the years work the same for American schools, you and I may even be in the same dormitory."

"I'd like that," Aliasha said with a grin, nibbling the end of her licorice wand.

The rest of the trip passed idly, with Hermione, Ron, and Harry telling Aliasha about day-to-day life at Hogwart's and Aliasha comparing it to her experiences at Kent. Hermione noticed that, unlike their recent experience with the students from Bauxbaton, Aliasha didn't criticize the differences between schools; she in fact said that she thought Hogwart's methods in some cases were better. Harry, on the other hand, noticed her divert her attention from him with a slight blush when he happened to look her way; it reminded him somewhat of how Ginny had behaved her first year. She didn't shy away from him, as Ginny had, but there was a hint of nerves whenever she addressed him directly.

Harry looked around the platform as they disembarked at Hogsmeade Station that evening, hoping to see a few other familiar faces among the thin crowd of students. He saw Katie Bell, fellow Gryffindor Quidditch player, and waved. There were a small handful of other Gryffindors, though none from his year beyond Ron and Hermione, as well as a few Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, judging by the colors they wore. He was thankful to note there were no Slytherins among the group, three in particular. It seemed Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle had better things to do for their summer holiday. "Anyone else notice that we're the youngest ones here?" he thought aloud.

"This class was only offered to students going into fifth year or higher," Hermione explained.

Ron nodded. "Yeah, Ginny wanted to come, but she wasn't old enough." This news sent a mixture of relief and disappointment through Harry, though he wasn't quite certain why.

Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was directing students toward the docks, standing on several crates to make himself seen. Harry found this odd; they hadn't taken the boats up to the school since first year. Apparently he wasn't alone in noting this. "We had problems with the carriages," Flitwick was explaining to another group of students as Harry and the others approached, "and with Hagrid away… well, off you go!"

Harry wondered absently what Hagrid had to do with the carriages they'd always taken to the school before, which seemed to pull themselves, as he, Ron, Hermione, and Aliasha climbed into a boat. A soft, cool breeze was blowing over the lake, and the full moon shone behind the silhouette of Hogwart's castle.

"It's beautiful," Aliasha said in a dreamy tone, looking out over the lake. The water looked like a rippling sheet of crystal in the moonlight. She then added, almost sadly, "I presume we won't be coming this way again in the fall".

Hermione, sitting next to her, shook her head. "Only first-years take the boats up to the school; the rest of us get there by carriage."

"What do you reckon is wrong with them, that they'd need Hagrid to fix it?" asked Ron, voicing Harry's earlier curiosity.

"Hagrid?" Aliasha looked from one of them to another curiously.

"He's the gamekeeper at Hogwart's," Harry explained, "and our Care of Magical Creatures professor. You'll likely get to meet him this fall. He's a good man, Hagrid."

"Yeah," Ron nodded his assent, "but he's got funny ideas about what makes an animal dangerous."

"As long as he isn't mad enough to want a pet dragon or something," said Aliasha, triggering knowing looks between the others. "Personally, I'm just hoping the Alchemy teacher's understanding; I had a little trouble with it at Kent." The others looked at her, mildly confused. "You have Alchemy at Hogwart's, don't you? Brewing potions and stuff?"

"We call it Potions," Harry told her, attempting to ignore the fact that she was now batting her eyes at him, "and you're out of luck there. There's a lot of things I'd call Snape…"

"Most of them not fit for polite conversation," Hermione interrupted.

"But 'understanding' isn't on the list," finished Harry, shooting Hermione a dirty look.

The boat carrying Professor Flitwick was the first to reach shore, and he scrambled out of the boat carefully. "Now, everyone, please make your way to the Great Hall and be seated at your House tables," he instructed, and the cluster of student trudged up the hill toward the castle. The Great Hall was as it usually was, house tables stretching from end to end (though the Slytherin table was absent), staff table spread across the far end of the room, and ceiling imitating the clear night sky above. The staff table only had two occupants prior to Flitwick's arrival. Professor McGonagall was seated in the throne at the center of the table usually occupied by Dumbledore. To her left was a young man with short auburn hair and an analytical expression on his features as the students filed in.

"That must be Professor Sutherland," said Hermione, having shown Aliasha to the Gryffindor table and taking a seat with Ron at her right, Harry at her left, and Aliasha beyond him.

"Looks kind'a young, don't he?" Ron commented.

Harry shrugged. "Professor Lupin looked older than he really was; maybe Professor Sutherland is the other way round."

"Lupin had a reason for lookin' old," Ron sounded doubtful. "He's a werewolf."

Aliasha's eyes went wide. "You had a _werewolf_ for a _teacher_?!"

"It's a long story," said Harry in a tone that he hoped would dismiss the matter. It worked and it didn't; the girl absently brushed a wisp of strawberry blonde hair from her face, her expression going from surprise to a coy smile.

"I'll bet you have _lots_ of long stories," she cooed. "I'd _love_ to hear every single one of them."

Harry believed that never in his life was he more glad to hear Professor McGonagall clear her throat to gain the room's attention. "Before we dine," she said in a clear voice, "I wish to make a couple of announcements. First of all, during the course of this summer lesson, I will be acting as headmistress in Professor Dumbledore's absence. As some of you may have surmised, you will be staying in your usual dormitories while you are here." Aliasha turned a concerned look to Hermione, who smiled and dismissed the matter by shaking her head. "Some of you," Professor McGonagall went on, "may also be under the mistaken impression that you are simply taking your holiday here rather than at home. Though this is an elective course, you will be graded on it, and that grade will be part of your permanent record.

"On that note, I would like you all to welcome Professor Sutherland, on loan to us from America's National Institute of Magic, who will be instructing you in International Studies." She motioned to the man at her left, who stood partially and gave the assembly a small wave. He and McGonagall resumed their seats, and a sizeable meal appeared on the House tables.

The four of them ate in companionable silence. Harry occasionally glanced toward the staff table, observing Professor Sutherland, who didn't seem to have much of an appetite. He tried not to look for too long at a stretch, not from fear of being caught, but because Aliasha, who was between Harry and the staff table, kept getting the mistaken impression that he was looking at her and batting her eyes at him. After one attempt to observe Sutherland that resulted in Aliasha giving him a peculiar grin and a wink, he gave up on his efforts and focused on dinner.

It didn't seem like very long before the meal was finished and students started heading off toward their House common rooms. "I just realized," said Hermione, "we don't know if the password changed since the end of term".

"It did," Harry shook his head to Hermione's and Ron's alarmed looks as they walked down the Fat Lady's passage. "Katie passed it to me at dinner, figuring I'd tell the rest of you. Stupidest password ever, really; even Neville could remember it." They stopped in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady, who looked at them with mild disdain.

"Password?" she asked.

"Password," replied Harry. To the others' amazement, the portrait swung open, revealing the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. Harry was feeling a bit sluggish from the full meal, so he bid the others goodnight ("Sweet dreams," Aliasha told him with another coy smile and wink) and headed up to the boys' dormitory. He changed into his pajamas and soon drifted off into a deep, sound sleep.


	3. 2: International Studies

**Chapter 2:**

**International Studies**

Harry woke just after sunrise the next morning. For the first time since it happened, he didn't remember having a nightmare about the events in the graveyard. In fact, his dreams had been quite pleasant, though the details of them had already flitted from his memory. He dressed quietly, hearing snoring from Ron (the room's only other occupant) and went down to the common room, planning to continue to the Great Hall and get an early breakfast.

"Good morning, Harry," Aliasha's dreamy tone floated from one of the overstuffed chairs near the hearth. "Sleep well?"

"Fine, thanks," he said a bit nervously as she stood and turned to face him. "Um, Hermione awake yet?"

"She'll be along directly." Her tone of voice changed slightly; it carried a hint of… disappointment? Whatever it was vanished as she continued. "She's, um… dealing with some issues." She raised a hand to prevent further questioning. "Trust me on this: if you ask for details, you'll wish you hadn't. You're a boy."

Not entirely certain what Aliasha meant by this, Harry let the matter drop. A moment later, Hermione entered from the stairs to the girls' dormitories, looking flustered but unharmed. "Morning, Harry. I presume Ron's still asleep?"

Harry jerked his thumb toward the boys' dormitories. "Yeah, snoring away without a care in the world."

"I'd better go roust him," Hermione shook her head in annoyance. "We're getting our class schedule at breakfast. You two go on ahead; I'll catch up once Ron's ready."

"Shall we, then?" Aliasha beamed, latching on to Harry's arm.

Harry gave her an uneasy chuckle, then proceeded with her to the Great Hall. Several sheets of paper were laid out on the tables with the breakfast dishes, one for each seat. Harry glanced at the nearest one as he helped himself to some sausage and toast. "Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, nine-thirty to twelve, Ravenclaw, one-thirty to four, to assemble in the Great Hall," he read aloud. "I guess we're not being separated by years."

"Doesn't seem to be much of a reason to, with this small of a group," said Aliasha, grinning at him through the steam rising from the cup of coffee in her hands. "You weren't planning on trying to sneak away from me, were you, Harry?"

"Uh, no, I mean…" Harry stuttered, glad to not have to continue due to Hermione's arrival, followed by a very bleary-eyed Ron. Hermione looked over the schedule as Ron started dishing eggs onto his plate.

"One two and a half hour session each morning," she noted, drawing Ron's attention away from his food for a moment.

"Yeah, then we have all afternoon and evening to ourselves," he grinned. "Shame Hagrid's away; we could go visit."

A few owls flew into the Great Hall, dropping letters and copies of the_Daily Prophet_ onto the tables. One of them, Harry's snowy owl, Hedwig, landed on Harry's shoulder and dropped an envelope into his lap. "Thanks, Hedwig," he smiled, stroking the owl's feathers lightly. She gave him a light nip on the ear then flew off as he opened the letter.

_Harry,_

_Sorry I can't go into where I'm going right now; might fall into the wrong hands. If you wouldn't mind, please stop by my house and give Fang some company if you have some free time. Good luck with your class!_

_Yours,_

_Hagrid_

"Wonder what he meant by 'the wrong hands'," Harry thought aloud, handing the letter to Hermione.

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know… perhaps the Death Eaters have found a way to intercept owls?"

"Death Eaters?" Aliasha looked at them quizzically.

Harry's face was grim as he turned to her. "Like you told me, if you ask for details, you'll wish you hadn't."

"They don't have anything to do with the Unnamed One, do they?" It was the others' turn to look at Aliasha with confusion. "The Dark Wizard who caused so much trouble years ago? Mother and Father used to speak of him; they said that they hoped he was dead like the reports said, and that he never crossed the pond to America."

"He isn't," said Harry. "Voldemort…"

"You-Know-Who!" Ron hissed, keeping his voice down. "Don't go teaching her bad habits right off!"

"Whatever," Harry shook his head, mild annoyance in his voice. "Anyway, he's back. I saw his return firsthand."

"Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry…" she rested a hand on his forearm, causing him to wince slightly. The place where Wormtail had taken his blood was still somewhat tender. "Isn't anyone doing anything about it, trying to find him?"

Hermione shook her head. "The Ministry for Magic refuses to even believe that he's back, heavens know why." She glanced at a nearby clock. "We've an hour before class; shall we take a walk?" The four of them left the Great Hall and strolled down to the lake, chatting amiably. Harry was glad the conversation turned away from Voldemort and the Death Eaters, though he found Aliasha's constant attention a bit unnerving.

It didn't seem like long before they had made their way back to the castle and were queued outside the Great Hall with the other Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs who'd opted for the class, which made up about half of the total group from the train. At nine-thirty precisely, the doors of the Great Hall swung open of their own accord. Several desks were arranged where the house tables had been just moments before, and Professor Sutherland was seated behind a small table situated in front of the staff table, looking over some notes. He stood and stepped around the table as the class found seats.

"Before we begin," he said, glancing at his notes once more, "Aliasha Kent, would you raise your hand, please?" Aliasha slowly raised her hand, looking nervous. Sutherland grinned. "I don't want to catch any of you copying Miss Kent's notes, considering she should already know everything I'm planning to teach you." He let go of his notes and they floated back to his desk. A wave of his hand brought a blank chalkboard into being. "Now, since we'll be focusing on American magical society, we should start at the beginning. Can any of you tell me who invented American magic?"

Hermione's hand shot into the air, drawing a quiet groan from Ron. "Benjamin Franklin is credited with the creation of the American style of magic," she said when Sutherland acknowledged her. "However, Franklin really only assembled the pieces. The technique is a combination of European magic and the methods used by the shamans of various Native American tribes."

Sutherland pointed his index finger at the chalkboard; the words _Benjamin Franklin_ wrote themselves on it. "Am I correct to guess you're Miss Granger?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Professor McGonagall warned me about you," he laughed. "She said you've probably read as much about the subject as I've experienced. However, you're only partly right this time; it's been generally concluded by historians that Franklin threw a few of his own touches into the final product." He leaned against the front of his table, resting his hands on his thighs. "Can any of you… besides Miss Granger or Miss Kent… tell me the two primary difference between European and American magic?" The word _Differences_appeared underlined on the chalkboard; no hands were raised. "I'll give you a hint: you've already seen one."

One Hufflepuff boy tentatively raised his hand, and Sutherland nodded to him. "You've cast a few spells already," he said tentatively, "but you haven't used a wand?"

"Bingo!" Sutherland smiled as _1: No wands_ wrote itself on the board under _Differences_. "And the other? Anyone?" Hermione and Aliasha both raised their hands. "Anyone _else_?" He looked around expectantly, then sighed. "Okay. Miss Kent, tell us the other difference."

"Normals can use some of the more basic spells," she said with a smile, which faded when she added, "but I'm not sure why".

"They're called Muggles on this side of the Atlantic, Miss Kent," Sutherland corrected; Aliasha blushed slightly and _2: Some can be used by anyone_ appeared. "American magic draws equally on magical aptitude and willpower, allowing some of the simpler spells to be cast even by Muggles, or Normals, as we Yanks call them, who are very strong-willed."

"Excuse me, sir," said Harry, "but how could Muggles possibly learn even simple spells when they don't even know we exist?"

Sutherland arched an eyebrow. "What's your name, son?"

"Harry Potter, sir."

He nodded; if Harry's name registered anything more to him than the name of any other student, his expression didn't show it. "Well, Mister Potter, as I'm sure you're aware, European Muggles don't know that wizards exist because of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy. The problem there is the fact that the various nations of the American continents didn't exist when the Confederation was first convened. Although all of them have since signed on and agreed to the Statute, at least in the case of the United States, Canada, and the Alliance of Native American Nations, it was with the provision that the Statute didn't apply within the borders of their own or each other's countries."

Harry looked more confused. "Then what's to stop an American Muggle from coming here and telling folk about us?"

"Glad you asked," Sutherland gave Harry a sly grin. "I was hoping you would. The Confederation wasn't too hot for _anybody_ outside the wizarding world to know we exist, but they agreed to the provision with a condition of their own: a very powerful enchantment was placed on the borders of the nations wanting the provision, so that any Muggle who crossed the border going out forgets anything they ever knew about magic and remembers it again when they cross going in."

Ron seemed to mull this over. "So, an English Muggle, who went to America and saw someone do magic…"

"Would lose all memory of the event somewhere over the Atlantic," Sutherland nodded. "The memory isn't replaced; it disappears entirely. That's why the US Department of Magical Affairs discourages the use of magic in public, especially in areas where there are likely to be foreign tourists. It's really not very good for the tourist trade for people to forget half of their vacations on the way home."

Ron considered the matter further, which, judging by the look on her face, came as something of a surprise to Hermione. "Would he then remember it if he went back?"

"Actually, Mister…?" Sutherland began.

"Weasley, sir; Ron Weasley." It appeared that Ron was beginning to regret saying anything.

Professor Sutherland smiled. "Well, Mister Weasley, that's a very good question. The best answer I can give you is I'm not sure; you would think so, but nobody's actually tested it on a foreign Muggle, and it seems to me that it might be kind of tricky to do so. It's possible the memory returning only applies to those who live within the borders of the enchantment." He stood and circled his table, sitting down behind it. "Now, I'd like you all to read the first two chapters of your books and write a list of some of the advantages and disadvantages of American magic as compared to what you're already familiar with. At least three of each; more if you're so inclined."

The students looked at each other questioningly; Hermione voiced their shared thought. "Excuse me, Professor; what books?"

"The books right in front of you, Miss Granger," he said with a wink. Sure enough, each desk had a copy of _Magic in America: a Guide for All Nations by Joshua Pike_ sitting on it that hadn't been there a second before. "As a side note, if any of you follow international news in the paper, you may recognize the author. Our most recent President named him Secretary of Magical Affairs when he was elected."

Like the rest of the class, Harry opened the book and began reading. It didn't surprise him, three-quarters of the way through the first chapter, to see Hermione out of the corner of his eye pulling out ink, a quill, and some parchment. It also didn't surprise him to occasionally see Aliasha glance over at him and smile. He had some difficulty focusing on the text, finding his mind drifting from time to time, but did his best to take in the information the book before him offered.

Harry had completely lost track of time when Professor Sutherland stepped out from behind his table and cleared his throat to get the class's attention. He had no disadvantages written yet, and only one advantage: _No wand to risk breaking_ was scribbled under the _Advantage_ column on his parchment, recalling Ron's misfortunes second year. "Well, it's about time to clear out and make room for lunch," Sutherland informed them. "Those of you who've finished, hold on to your lists until tomorrow; those who haven't, I expect you to be finished when we meet again. Class dismissed." He then sat back down, returning to the notes he'd been going over when the class started.

"It's fascinating, isn't it?" Hermione rambled as the class filed out of the Great Hall. "I mean, it's rather simplistic, compared even to the spells we've already learned, but almost as effective. I wonder if we'll get to try any American spells in class."

"Professor Sutherland seems pretty likable, too," Ron nodded. "I mean, I never thought I'd hear a teacher admit that he didn't know the answer to a question."

"Yes, but sometimes it's the ones that seem likable you have to watch out for," Aliasha pointed out. "I read about one famous wizard a couple of years ago, I think he was English, who turned out to be a big fraud; it got out that he had just taken credit for what other wizards had done and erased their memories soon after he wiped out his own by accident."

"His name wasn't Lockhart, was it?" asked Harry; Aliasha nodded. "Yeah, we had the displeasure."

"He tried to use my wand to Obliviate us," Ron added, "Harry and me; it backfired 'cause my wand was broken".

"Obliviate is a memory charm," Hermione said to Aliasha's raised eyebrow. "Speaking of which, I trust both of you remembered to mention the lack of risk of a broken wand in your advantages, after the problems Ron had."

Both boys nodded, stepping through the portrait hole back into the Gryffindor common room and heading toward the stairs to the dormitories to drop off their newly-acquired books. "I'm gonna go down to Hagrid's and check on Fang," Harry announced as they made their way back to the Great Hall. "You guys go on; I'll catch you up."

"Want some company?" Aliasha gave him another coy smile.

"Um, no thanks," Harry said quickly, resulting in a mock hurt look from the blonde. "I just want a little time to myself is all." He didn't quite have the heart to tell her that he really didn't want to be alone with her. As the others turned toward the Hall, Harry went the opposite direction, walking out the main doors and slowly making his way across the grounds to Hagrid's hut.

Fang, Hagrid's massive boarhound, was tied outside the hut, in the same place Harry and Hermione had rescued the hippogriff Buckbeak from execution from over a year prior. The dog barked loudly, wagging his tail and momentarily forgetting the dish of food that had been left nearby. He approached just within reach of Fang's tether, to prevent himself from being bowled over like a tenpin in the animal's excitement, and obligingly scratched behind Fang's ears. The curtains were drawn, not surprisingly, so Harry couldn't see inside the one-room hut where a portion of his time here at Hogwart's had been spent.

The boarhound seemed well-tended, but no less glad of Harry's company. A large bowl of what appeared to be fresh water sat beside the dish of food that has monopolized Fang's attention before Harry approached. Of course Hagrid wouldn't leave Fang unattended, Harry thought. He would have made arrangements with someone to look after the dog while he, Hagrid, was away.

Harry sat down on the ground, and Fang plopped his great head in Harry's lap. He had let his thoughts drift once more, reminiscing over the minor misadventures that had begun in this very cabin, when something caught the edge of his awareness. He'd seen it out of the corner of his eye, from the direction of the Forbidden Forest. He suspected his mind of playing tricks on him, having turned to memories of Norbert, the dragon Hagrid had attempted to keep as a pet, until he saw it again: a flash of light from within the forest, similar to a burst of flame. He stood up, eliciting a whimper from Fang at having lost his pillow, and considered edging closer to the forest to get a better view. He thought better of it and headed back to the castle.


	4. 3: Conversations in the Night

**Chapter 3**

**Conversation in the Night**

"It could've been anything," Ron pointed out as Harry joined him, Hermione, and Aliasha at lunch and told them what he'd seen. "I mean, who knows _what_ all lives in that forest, 'cept maybe Hagrid."

"I don't know," Harry shook his head. "I'd think we'd have noticed something shooting fire by now, especially if it's close to the forest edge."

Hermione set aside her copy of _Magic in America_ for a moment. "A Blast-Ended Skrewt, maybe?" she offered. "Hagrid never admitted as much, but I don't doubt a couple of them got loose."

Harry shook his head again. "No, they really only shot sparks; this was definitely a stream of fire."

Ron now looked puzzled. "Well, what do _you_ think it was, then?"

"I don't know…" Harry let the thought hang there, assuming he didn't need to finish it for his old friends.

Apparently, he didn't need to finish it for Aliasha, who had been quiet up to this point, either. "Harry, that forest is creepy… maybe even dangerous." Her concern was clear in her tone. ""I mean, it's out of bounds, isn't it? What if you were seen by one of the staff, or worse, something _in_ the forest?"

Harry hinted at a knowing grin toward the other two. "Oh, I'm not too concerned about being seen."

"Yeah, he's got _OOF_!" Ron's words were halted by Hermione's elbow in his ribs.

"A knack for avoiding detection," she quickly finished for him, then made a show of rubbing her shoulder. "Sorry, Ron; muscle spasm."

The strawberry blonde raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "Harry, are you hiding something?" Her eyes locked on his, as if reading them.

He thought a moment, trying to find the right words to use without outright lying (which he suspected she'd realize) but without actually telling Aliasha about his Invisibility Cloak, either. "I just… have a gift… for keeping myself from being noticed when I don't want to be. My father had it, too."

She lowered her head and grinned, though the dark blue eyes peeking through the strawberry blonde bangs told Harry that she knew there was more to it. "Does that mean you wanted _me_ to notice you, then?" she said slyly, causing Harry to stammer.

"Harry, did you finish your lists?" asked Hermione. Harry shook his head, not certain where she was going with this but glad to have a different topic of conversation. She gave an exasperated sigh. "I suppose you haven't, either?" She turned to Ron, who also shook his head. She then glanced at a nearby clock. "Let's head to the library, then. They'll be herding us out soon to get ready for the Ravenclaw class; I'll help you both finish."

"I'll be happy to help as well," Aliasha gave Harry a wink, then smiled at Ron. "Both of you, of course."

Harry and Ron both turned back to Hermione, who looked skeptical. "Are you sure?" she asked. "After all, Professor Sutherland said…"

"That he didn't want anyone to copy my notes," Aliasha returned matter-of-factly. "He never said a word about me volunteering to help someone. Also, him aside, I _am_ the resident expert on the subject matter." Lacking a sufficient counter-argument, Hermione agreed. She led the way up to the school library, Harry and Ron flanking and Aliasha close behind.

The library was quieter than normal, given the smaller number of students currently in residence. Hermione selected a table and sat down, with Ron next to her and Harry across. She was looking through the books she'd brought along when Aliasha began to sit down next to Harry.

"Oh, drat. Aliasha, could I ask a favor of you?" Hermione asked, looking up from the stack of books.

"I somehow suspect this will involve me leaving the three of you alone for a bit," said Aliasha with a smirk. To the surprised looks of all three, she simply giggled. "It's okay; what do you need?"

Hermione grinned sheepishly. "I'd meant to grab _Notable Wizards From Around the World_ on our way. Would you be a dear and get it for us?"

"Sure." As Aliasha turned and headed back to the shelves of books, the other three leaned over the table conspiratorially.

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered. "Sure, you could use your cloak to get out to the forest tonight, but how are you gonna get away from _her_ to get it?"

"I'm working on that," sighed Harry. "By the way, splendid job of almost telling her about it."

"Sorry 'bout that," Ron shrugged. "I forget sometimes that nobody else knows about it."

Hermione thought a moment. "Well, I doubt she'd actually follow you to the boys' dormitories. You could say you're tired and going to bed early, then come back down with the cloak on and wait for someone to leave."

"That's so simple, it's brilliant," said Harry.

"I want to go on record that I disagree with the idea, though." She paused for a second, glancing upward over Harry's shoulder. "I mean, saying that a lack of lethal spells is a disadvantage sounds rather dark." Harry's question of just what Hermione was talking about was answered by her following words. "What do you think, Aliasha?"

Aliasha had just returned, hugging the requested book to her chest. She set it down on the table as she took a seat beside Harry. "If anything, I would say the other way around," she said. "The inability to outright kill someone with a spell seems to me like it would deter someone like the Unnamed One from surfacing among American wizards, don't you think?"

The four of them spent the rest of the afternoon in the library discussing Professor Sutherland's assignment, though even this consisted mostly of Aliasha and Hermione comparing ideas, occasionally punctuated by Harry or Ron scribbling a variation of something one or the other had said to his list. By the time dinner had come and gone, Harry didn't need to force a yawn; it came quite naturally. However, the question of just what it was he had seen in the forest still gnawed at the edge of his mind. He announced his intention to retire early upon their return to the Common Room, drawing a mildly disappointed look and another wish of pleasant dreams from Aliasha, and made something of a show of trudging up to the dormitory. He retrieved his father's cloak from his trunk quickly, his eyes falling upon the Marauders' Map as he did so. He debated the matter for a moment, then grabbed the map and headed back down to the Common Room, throwing the cloak over his head as he left the room.

The room was empty for the moment, so he quickly slipped out the portrait hole. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he whispered, holding his wand to the map. He watched the ink spread over the parchment into the now-familiar greeting from Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, his father, James, and James's best friends, one of whom became his betrayer. He was about to unfold the map when he heard movement behind him, sidestepping to avoid the emerging Aliasha; she was dressed in a bathrobe and carrying a towel. She paused for a moment, looking around, then nodded and headed off toward the girls' bathroom.

This didn't strike Harry as odd; upon unfolding the map, he noticed the first thing that did: Aliasha did not appear anywhere on it. Further investigation revealed that Professor Sutherland was nowhere to be found on the map, either. He made a mental note to ask Sirius about this in his next letter to his godfather, then had his attention drawn to another name that did appear on the map, coming in the main entrance and heading toward Professor McGonagall's office. It was the name of someone whom Harry had no desire to see or be seen by, but his curiosity as to why this person was at Hogwart's at all, let alone at this hour, overwhelmed his desire to know what had been in the forest earlier that day.

The person whose name Harry had seen was now in Professor McGonagall's office, probably awaiting McGonagall herself, as Harry made his way quietly toward the door. He'd almost reached it when he heard voices from another room, the spare room serving as Professor Sutherland's office, which was empty according to the Marauders' Map.

"Sorry I'm late," the first voice said. It was a deep voice with a heavy American accent. Harry peered through the tiny crack in the door; Professor Sutherland was inside, with three others: a large, muscular man with flowing black hair and maroon skin, a smaller, sharp-faced man whose straight, dark brown hair fell to his shoulders, and a woman, the only one of the four dressed in common witch robes instead of Muggle clothing. She had wavy, strawberry blonde hair, slightly darker than Aliasha's; Harry supposed this woman could easily be Aliasha's mother.

"The kid saw you, John," Sutherland announced, looking toward the maroon-skinned man. "He saw the Soulfyre, anyway. He was telling his friends about it at lunch."

"I didn't have much choice," the man addressed as John replied, folding his large arms across his chest. "You try to stay under cover with a herd of centaurs trying to kick you out of your hiding place some time."

"I still think this operation pointless, truth be told," the woman said with a sigh.

"You remember what Severus told us," said John, sending a chill down Harry's spine; what did Snape have to do with these people? "The Dark Lord wants that kid captured in the worst way."

The woman nodded. "Well, yes, but to attempt to take him from here, even with Dumbledore gone, would be madness."

"V ain't exactly the poster boy for mental health, y'know," said Sutherland, leaning against his desk.

"True, but he is powerful," the smaller man countered. He also had something of an American accent, but not as pronounced as John's or Sutherland's. "More importantly, he expects his orders to be carried out to the letter."

The others nodded their assent. "What's the word from town, Nate?" asked John.

"Lucy's in Hogsmeade," replied the smaller man. "He had three others with him I didn't recognize; I don't think he saw me."

John considered this a moment, nodding. "That psycho MacNair's probably one of 'em. We figured Malfoy would be the first to take a shot, and that he wouldn't be alone." Harry stifled a gasp; the very person they were discussing was in the next room.

"He could have some other reason for being in the area," offered the woman, drawing a derisive snort from the man called Nate.

"If Lucy's reason for being in Hogsmeade doesn't have the initials H.P., I'll eat my wand," he said.

"Healing potions?" asked Sutherland sarcastically.

"We know why he's here." There was no humor in John's voice.

"What's the play then, commander?" asked Nate.

"Watch and wait," said John. "When Malfoy makes his move, we'll make ours. For now, we go back to our posts. It's a good thing our Portal spells aren't affected by Hogwart's security."

"Actually, they are," Nate told him, "at least partially. I had to Portal to the edge of the grounds and walk in before I could Portal here."

"Be ready to come a-runnin', then, Nate," Sutherland replied. "I doubt Lucy's gonna wait too long."

"Stay in contact as much as you can," John told all of them. As the four turned away from each other, three swirling discs of light appeared in the room, one behind each of them except Sutherland. John, Nate, and the woman each stepped into the nearest disc and vanished, the disc itself following suit.

Harry started, hearing movement from just ahead. Lucius Malfoy was emerging from Professor McGonagall's office. "I'll be in Hogsmeade a few days, on personal business," he said into the room. "I trust you'll contact me if the item turns up?"

"I will, Mister Malfoy," McGonagall's voice replied from within. "However, I would not count on it doing so; as I said, all of the dormitories have already been cleaned."

Lucius nodded politely, his usual smug grin on his face. "Very well. Good evening, Professor." He closed the office door and started toward the main entrance, then paused. Harry held his breath as Malfoy looked around curiously, praying Malfoy didn't somehow sense his presence. He then seemed to dismiss the matter and continued on, leaving Harry alone in the hallway.

Harry's mind raced as he quickly yet cautiously made his way back to the Gryffindor common room. Who were these Americans? If they're connected to Snape, they couldn't be anyone good, he reasoned. One of them referred to the maroon-skinned man as "commander"; were they some sort of military or police force? Had Voldemort somehow managed to influence the American government? There was also the woman; was she some relation to Aliasha, and if so, was Aliasha herself spying on him for them? They knew about what he saw in the forest, and neither Ron nor Hermione would've said anything about it…

Harry stopped at the painting of the Fat Lady and checked the Marauder's Map. Ron and Hermione were sitting in the common room, apparently alone. This did not, however, rule out the possibility of Aliasha being with them, as she didn't appear on the map at all. Looking up and down the hall to make sure no one was around, he crossed his fingers and entered.


End file.
